LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


^ 


MORNING  LIGHTS  AND 
EVENING  SHADOWS 


jftorning 
Abetting 


ant) 


BY 


ROSSITER   JOHNSON 


THE  MARION  PRESS 

JAMAICA    QUEENSBOROUGH     NEW-YORK 

1902 


Copyright,  1902,  by  ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 


Contents. 

PAGE 

A  Song  for  a  New  Year        ....          9 

The  Viftory             .           .           .                      .  12 

Faith's  Surrender          .          .          .           .  .15 

The  Dark  Herald   .           .          .          .          .  19 

Brevi  Finietur     .          .          .          .          .  .21 

Opportunity             .          .          .          .          .  23 

On  the  Cliff 26 

A  Photograph          .           .           .           .           .  29 

On  the  Stairs      .          .          .          .          .  .30 

Dedication     .          .          .          .          .          .  32 

A  Love- Letter  Without  a  Lady       .          .  .34 

The  Indian  Trail    .          .          .          .          .  37 

Laurence             .          .          .          .          .  .40 

Evelyn           ....          .          .  43 

A  Soldier  Poet   .          .                     .          .  .46 

A  Woman  of  the  War      ....  48 

The  Rivals         .          .          .          .          .  -53 

Three  Women        .          .          .          .          .  59 

William  Hamilton  Gibson     .          .          .  .61 

Gushing         .          .          .          .          .          .  62 


7840 


6  Contents. 

My  Ship 68 

When  Foolish  Words       .  .          .          .             70 

Autumn    .          .          .          .  .          .                  71 

A  Boy's  Poem        .....  72 

All  Partners        .          .          .  .          .           .74 

Thanksgiving           .          .  .          .          .             77 

The  Land  of  Noddy             .  .          .          .80 

A  Rhyme  of  the  Rain       .  .          .          .             82 

An  Indian  Love-Song            .  .          .          .89 

Nine-nine  in  the  Shade     .  .           .           .             91 

The  Gate  of  Tears      .          .  .          .          -93 

On  the  Beach  at  Amagansett  ...             99 

At  Fifty-two       .          .          .  .          .          .102 

Salvage  : 

The  Stage  Ride            .  .          .          .          104 

New  and  Old          .          .  .          .          .106 

Youth  and  Verse           .  .          .          .           107 

Great  and  Small      .          .  .          .          .108 

Civil  War            .          .  .          .          .           109 

A  Farewell     .  1 1 1 


MORNING  LIGHTS  AND 
EVENING  SHADOWS 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


aborning  Jliglit?  anb  Abetting 


for  a  JBeto 


The  sea  sings  the  song  of  the  ages, 

The  mountain  stands  mutely  sublime, 
While  the  blank  of  Eternity's  pages 

Is  filled  by  the  fingers  of  Time. 
But  Man  robs  the  sea  of  its  wonder, 

Making  syllabled  speech  of  its  roar  ; 
He  rendeth  the  mountain  asunder, 

And  rolleth  his  wheels  through  its  core  ; 
He  delveth  deep  down  for  earth's  treasure, 

And  every  locked  secret  unbars  : 
He  scanneth  the  heavens  at  pleasure, 

And  writeth  his  name  on  the  stars. 

But  purpose  is  weaker  than  passion, 
And  patience  is  dearer  than  blood  ; 

And  his  face  groweth  withered  and  ashen, 
Ere  he  findeth  and  graspeth  the  good. 


io         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

He  pursueth  the  phantom  of  beauty, 

Or  peddleth  his  valor  for  pelf, 
Till  the  iron  of  merciless  Duty 

Hath  cloven  the  armor  of  self. 
He  soweth  the  life  of  his  brother, 

He  wasteth  the  half  of  his  soul ; 
The  harvest  is  reaped  by  another, 

And  Death  dippeth  deep  for  his  toll. 


So  the  march  of  triumphal  procession, 

That  Science  were  fain  to  begin, 
Is  hindered  with  painful  digression 

Of  ignorance,  folly,  and  sin. 
Through  mazes  of  needless  confusion 

The  story  of  Freedom  must  bend, 
And  the  grandest  and  simplest  conclusion 

Go  stumbling  along  to  its  end. 
Yet  a  year  does  not  slide  o'er  the  border 

Of  time  but  some  progress  it  shows  ; 
And  a  lustrum  proves  prescience  and  order  : 

Thus  the  drama  creeps  on  to  its  close. 

If  the  blood  that  was  weaker  than  water 
Too  thinly  and  sluggishly  ran, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          1 1 

Lo  !  the  wine  of  the  vintage  of  slaughter 

Giveth  strength  to  the  sinews  of  Man. 
And  the  shout  of  a  lusty  young  nation 

Now  greets  his  gray  brothers  with  glee ; 
And  the  swell  of  its  ringing  vibration 

Sweeps  over  the  isles  of  the  sea ; 
While  Liberty  looks  for  a  morrow 

That  promiseth  joyous  increase, 
As  waneth  her  midnight  of  sorrow 

And  waxeth  her  morning  of  peace. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


Stctorp, 

When  Man,  in  his  Maker's  image,  came 
To  be  the  lord  of  the  new-made  earth, 

To  conquer  its  forests,  its  beasts  to  tame, 

To  gather  its  treasures  and  know  their  worth, 

All  readily  granted  his  power  and  place, 

Save  the  Ocean,  the  Mountain,  and  Time,  and 
Space ; 

And  these  four  sneered  at  his  puny  frame, 
And  made  of  his  lordship  a  theme  for  mirth. 

Whole  ages  passed  while  his  flocks  he  tended, 
And  delved  and  dreamed,  as  the  years  went  by, 

Till  there  came  an  age  when  his  genius  splendid 
Had  bridged  the  rivers,  and  sailed  the  sky, 

And  raised  the  dome  that  defied  the  storm, 

And  mastered  the  beauties  of  color  and  form  ; 

But  his  power  was  lost,  his  dominion  ended, 

Where  Time,  Space,  Mountain,  or  Sea  was  nigh. 

The  Mountains  rose  in  their  grim  inertness 
Between  the  peoples,  and  made  them  strange, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows,          \  3 

Save  as  in  moments  of  pride  or  pertness 

They  climbed  the  ridge  of  their  native  range, 

And,  looking  down  on  the  tribe  below, 

Saw  nothing  there  but  a  deadly  foe, 

Heard  only  a  war-cry,  long  and  shrill, 
In  echoes  leaping  from  hill  to  hill. 


The  Ocean  rolled  in  its  mighty  splendor, 

Washing  the  slowly  wasting  shore, 
And  the  voices  of  nations,  fierce  or  tender, 

Lost  themselves  in  its  endless  roar. 
With  frail  ships  launched  on  its  treacherous  surge, 
And  sad  eyes  fixed  on  its  far  blue,  verge, 
Man's  hold  of  life  seemed  brittle  and  slender, 

And  the  Sea  his  master  for  evermore. 

And  Space  and  Time  brought  their  huge  dimensions 
To  separate  man  from  his  brother  man, 

And  sowed  between  them  a  thousand  dissensions, 
That  ripened  in  hatred  and  caste  and  clan. 

So  Sea  and  Mountain  and  Time  and  Space 

Laughed  again  in  his  lordship's  face, 

And  bade  him  blush  for  his  weak  inventions 
And  the  narrow  round  his  achievements  ran. 


1 4         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

But  one  morning  he  made  him  a  slender  wire, 

As  an  artist's  vision  took  life  and  form, 
While  he  drew  from  heaven  the  strange  fierce  fire 
That  reddens  the  edge  of  the  midnight  storm  ; 
And  he  carried  it  over  the  Mountain's  crest, 
And  dropped  it  into  the  Ocean's  breast ; 
And  Science  proclaimed,  from  shore  to  shore, 
That  Time  and  Space  ruled  man  no  more. 

Then  the  brotherhood  lost  on  Shinar's  plain 
Came  back  to  the  peoples  of  earth  again. 
"Be  one!"  sighed  the  Mountain,  and  shrank  away. 
"Be  one  !"  murmured  Ocean,  in  dashes  of  spray. 
"Be  one  !"  said  Space,  "I  forbid  no  more." 
"Be  one  ! "  echoed  Time,  "till  my  years  are  o'er." 
"We  are  one  ! "  said  the  nations,  as  hand  met  hand 
In  a  thrill  electric  from  land  to  land. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          \  5 


SttmnUer. 


As  vanquished  years  behind  me  glide, 

Trailing  the  banner  of  their  boasts, 
Lo  !  step  for  step  and  stride  for  stride, 

Beside  me  walk  their  silent  ghosts. 
Each,  while  a  narrow  moment  burned, 

The  breath  of  full  existence  shared  ; 
Then  mortal  Substance  backward  turned, 

Immortal  Shadow  onward  fared. 

Between  the  doing  and  the  dreaming, 
My  slack  hands  fall  ; 

Between  the  being  and  the  seeming, 
My  senses  pall  ; 

And  swiftly  through  life's  broken  arches 

Care  with  his  troop  triumphant  marches, 
And  claims  me  thrall. 

There  ever,  'mid  the  moving  throng 
Whose  mocking  footfalls  echo  mine, 

Poor  widowed  Memory  leads  along 
Her  children  in  a  lengthened  line. 


1 6         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

What  time  the  head  in  silence  hung, 
I  knew  them  by  that  voiceless  sign  — 

Their  tender  forms  forever  young, 
Their  weary  eyes  as  old  as  mine. 

Between  retreating  and  encroaching 

Their  footprints  lie  ; 
Between  beseeching  and  reproaching 

Their  voices  die ; 
And  every  scheme  of  better  living 
They  mar  with  blotches  of  misgiving, 

And  thrust  it  by. 

The  one  foul  word  in  record  fair 

Stands  out  the  foremost  on  the  page, 
Till  all  of  good  or  glory  there 

Seems  chance-achieved  or  shrunk  with  age  ; 
The  present  help  of  manly  strength, 

The  royal  sway  of  manly  will, 
However  bold,  go  down  at  length 

Before  some  iron-visored  ill. 

Betwixt  old  baulk  and  new  beginning, 
How  Courage  quails  ! 

'Twixt  white  intent  and  stain  of  sinning, 
How  Virtue  fails ! 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          1 7 

And  backward  on  her  own  path  turning, 
Where  Hazard's  lurid  torch  is  burning, 
How  Reason  pales  ! 

From  self  the  subtle  motive  spun, 

Through  self  the  generous  purpose  burns, 
For  self  the  martyr  deed  is  done, 

And  round  to  self  at  last  returns 
The  boon  for  others  dearly  bought, 

The  far  result  of  sacrifice, 
That  triumphs  in  completed  thought, 

Or  lights  a  gleam  in  dying  eyes. 

Betwixt  grim  fact  and  sad  surmising, 

Joys  merge  in  pain  ; 
'Twixt  love  of  self  and  self-despising, 

What  grounds  remain 
Where  Hope  is  lord  and  Fear  is  vassal, 
Where  calm  Content  may  build  her  castle, 

Nor  build  in  vain  ? 

Though  Truth  be  steadfast  as  the  hills 

Whose  flinty  faces  mock  at  Time, 
What  boots  it,  if  no  living  rills 

Roll  downward  from  that  steep  sublime  ? 

3 


1 8          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

I  could  not  hold  its  airy  height, 

Though  I  should  tread  the  narrow  track, 
While  trembling  foot  and  failing  sight 

Conspire  too  well  to  hurl  me  back. 

Between  the  climbing  and  the  creeping, 
There's  blood  and  bruise  ; 

Between  the  laughing  and  the  weeping, 
The  soul  may  lose 

Her  grasp  of  all  that  makes  the  morrow 

Seem  other  than  a  greener  sorrow, 
With  fresher  dews. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          \  9 


SDark 

The  world  is  beautiful,  and  life  is  sweet, 

And  home  sufficient  heaven,  to  those  that  love. 
Yet  something  happier  were  they  if  the  feet 

Of  the  Dark  Herald,  like  the  spheres  above, 
Moved  in  a  steadfast  orbit  and  came  round 

In  some  determined  cycle  to  their  door, 
Commanding  all  together  to  give  ground 

For  the  new  mortals  waiting  off  the  shore. 

Then  might  they  do  their  work,  and  live  their  life, 

And  love  their  loves,  and  go  in  calm  content, 
Taking  the  hands  of  brother,  sister,  wife, 

For  the  long  journey  and  its  far  event. 
Then  might  they  know  with  not  a  shade  of  doubt  — 

What  now  they  argue  from  a  fear  of  sin  — 
That  He  who  made  the  mighty  world  without 

Sustains  and  loves  the  weakest  soul  therein. 

But  who  can  see  the  brightest  and  the  best 

Snatched  from  the  sight  of  those  that  need  them 
here, 


2o         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

See  active  life  become  eternal  rest, 

See  parents  weeping  o'er  their  children's  bier, 
See  age  a  burden  and  see  youth  grow  pale, 

See  what  the  weak  and  innocent  endure  — 
Nor  feel  that  laws  of  Nature  somehow  fail 

Just  where  their  working  should  be  most  secure  ? 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          2  i 


jFintetttr* 

I  sometimes  think  my  life  has  run 
Beyond  the  measure  of  its  worth, 

And  wonder  when  will  rise  the  sun, 
The  last  that  I  shall  see  on  earth. 

Again,  life's  brevity  appears 
The  only  marplot ;  and  I  plan 
How  all  might  round  to  right,  if  man 

Could  only  live  some  hundred  years. 

But  evermore  this  mournful  thread 

Through  all  reflection*  s  fabric  runs : 
That  if  this  dear  one  were  not  dead, 

Were  that  one  still  the  same  as  once, 
Had  these  a  few  more  years  been  spared, 
And  all  my  later  fortune  shared, 
Contented  then  I  had  not  cared 

For  what  might  lie  beyond  the  suns  ; 

That  loss  and  blunders  manifold, 
Which  mar  our  brief  existence  here, 


22          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

Were  not  its  knell  so  quickly  tolled, 

Might  be  redeemed  some  future  year ; 
Then  he  who  faltered  at  the  start 
And  failed,  were  not  the  course  so  short, 
Might,  by  some  latent  force  or  art, 

Have  won  the  race,  the  prize,  the  cheer. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          23 


©pportttnitp. 

Not  idly  dreaming  of  Thy  heaven, 

Nor  longing  for  some  vague  delight, 
With  scorn  of  such  as  time  has  given, 

Nor  blind  to  glories  of  the  night 
With  watching  for  the  break  of  dawn, 
Nor  mourning  good  forever  gone, 
Far  from  my  fellow  men  withdrawn, 
Would  I  Thy  mercies,  Lord,  requite. 

The  great  to-come  is  Thine  alone ; 

The  past,  we  know  not  whose  it  is ; 
Its  days  and  deeds  are  all  its  own, 

And  mine,  mayhap,  its  miseries. 
But  though  all  things  beyond  may  be 
Obscured  in  hazy  drapery, 
One  little  circle  round  is  free 

From  darkness,  doubt,  and  mysteries. 

That  little  circle,  now  and  here, 
Moves  onward  with  me  as  I  go  ; 


24         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

That  hazy  curtain  hanging  near 

Rolls  backward  with  continual  flow : 
And  still  my  growing  pathway  glides 
Where  some  divine  impulsion  guides, 
And  still  Thy  firmament  abides, 

And  through  the  mist  its  beacons  glow. 


The  measure  of  Thy  work  is  more 

Than  I  may  ever  hope  to  span 
With  compass  of  the  little  lore 

That  puffs  the  mind  of  puny  man. 
I  only  know  that  round  my  feet 
Lie  shreds  of  purpose  incomplete, 
Which  I  must  help  to  form  and  meet, 
Revealing  Thy  eternal  plan. 

I  only  know  that  in  my  heart 

Somehow  there  must  be  something  good  ; 
Thou  wouldst  not  set  my  task  apart 

And  give  me  stubble,  hay,  and  wood, 
And  these  alone,  that  my  desire 
Might  build  in  mockery  a  pyre 
But  meant  for  the  consuming  fire, 

Where  otherwise  some  hope  had  stood. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          25 

Though,  fair  ambition's  banner  furled, 

And  every  outlook  growing  less, 
I  elbow  through  a  crowded  world, 

With  daily  toil  and  strife  and  stress, 
If  eye  and  heart  to  heaven  be  true, 
Some  bit  of  sky  I  still  may  view, 
And  from  that  little  arc  of  blue 

The  sphere  of  Thy  creation  guess. 


2 6          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


©n  t&e  Cliff* 

"See  where  the  crest  of  the  long  promontory, 

Decked  by  October  in  crimson  and  brown, 
Lies  like  the  scene  of  some  fairyland  story, 

Over  the  sands  to  the  deep  sloping  down. 
See  the  white  mist  on  the  hidden  horizon 

Hang  like  the  folds  of  the  curtain  of  fate. 
See  where  yon  shadow  the  green  water  flies  on, 

Cast  from  a  cloud  for  the  conclave  too  late. 

"See  the  small  ripples  in  curving  ranks  chasing 

Every  light  breeze  running  out  from  the  shore, 
Gleeful  as  children  when  merrily  racing, 

Hands  interlocked,  o'er  a  wide  meadow  floor. 
See  round  the  pier  how  the  tossing  wave  sparkles, 

Bright  as  the  hope  in  a  love-lighted  breast. 
See  the  one  sail  in  the  sunlight  that  darkles, 

Laboring  home  from  the  lands  of  the  west. 

"See  the  low  surf  where  it  restlessly  tumbles, 
Swiftly  advancing,  and  then  in  retreat. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          27 

See  how  the  tall  cliff  yields  slowly  and  crumbles, 
Sliding  away  to  the  gulfs  at  our  feet. 

Sure  is  thy  victory,  emblem  of  weakness ; 
Certain  thine  overthrow,  ponderous  wall. 

Brittle  is  sternness,  but  mighty  is  meekness  — 
O  wave'  that  will  conquer  !   O  cliff  that  must 
fall!" 


'  Ah  lady,  how  deep  is  this  truth  of  your  teaching  ! 

All  that  delights  and  inthralls  you  I  see ; 
But  little  you  dream  of  the  meaning  far-reaching, 
Yea,  more  than  you  meant  them,  your  words 

have  for  me. 
Light  run  my  fancies  that  once  were  too  sober  ; 

All  the  fair  land  of  the  future  lies  spread 
Brightly  before  me,  in  hues  of  October ; 

Homeward,  full-laden,  my  ship  turns  her  head. 

'Dimly  across  them  falls  fate's  mystic  curtain: 

If  but  thy  fingers  would  draw  it  away, 
Making  the  fanciful  turn  to  the  certain, 

Then  would  the  sounds  and  the  sights  of  to-day 


28          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

Ring  like  the  strains  of  a  ballad  pathetic, 

Heard  when  the  voice  of  the  singer  is  dumb  ; 

Glow  like  the  great  words  on  pages  prophetic, 
Read  when  the  fingers  that  wrote  them  are  numb. 

"Into  the  depths  of  thy  dreamy  eyes  peering, 
Watching  thy  lips  for  some  shadowy  sign, 
Trembling  in  doubt  betwixt  hoping  and  fearing, 
Stands  my  poor  soul,  and  appeals  unto  thine. 
Barren  as  sea-sand  is  every  ambition, 

Pride  but  the  foam  in  the  breaker  concealed  ; 
Fame  is  a  shadow,  and  wealth  a  derision  — 
O  love  that  will  triumph  !   O  life  that  must 
yield!" 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          29 


A  flash  of  daylight  on  a  darkened  plate  — 

And  lip  and  brow  and  eye 
Some  portion  of  their  inmost  thought  relate 

In  tones  that  do  not  die. 

The  instant  message  of  a  single  look, 

With  love  and  hope  alight, 
Is  like  the  broad  page  of  an  open  book 

To  him  who  reads  aright. 

Yet  sometimes,  though  the  picture  be  ablaze 
With  life's  most  precious  meed, 

The  careless  handle,  and  the  many  gaze, 
But  only  one  can  read. 


30         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


©n  tfje  Stairs* 

Swift  tho'  the  foot-fall  of  midnight  advances, 

Let  us  linger  a  while  on  the  stairs  — 
Nothing  to  witness  our  words  and  our  glances 

But  the  astral  that  over  us  flares. 
Ah,  how  in  contrast  with  gloomy  November 

The  gleam  of  their  brilliance  appears ! 
You  may  forget  them,  but  I  shall  remember — 

Remember  these  glances  for  years. 

Press  but  the  fingers  for  needless  assurance, 

Touch  the  lips  for  a  token  of  truth  — 
Ah,  how  it  girds  for  heroic  endurance 

The  pitiful  weakness  of  youth  ! 
So  rises  purpose  that  never  shall  slumber, 

So  rings  its  brave  song  in  my  ears  ; 
You  may  forget  them,  but  I  must  remember  — 

Remember  these  moments  for  years. 

What  tho*  the  spirit  be  robbed  of  its  buoyance, 
Still  wrapped  in  the  cumbersome  clay? 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          3  i 

What  tho'  the  wear  of  incessant  annoyance 

Shall  fritter  endeavor  away, 
Turn  the  fair  June  into  dull-eyed  December, 

Drown  exultation  in  tears? 
You  may  forget  them,  but  I  shall  remember  — 

Remember  these  moments  for  years. 

Even  as  now  I  pass  out  of  the  portal 

To  the  slumberous  silence  of  night, 
So  if  Remembrance,  immured  but  immortal, 

From  the  dwelling  of  earth  take  her  flight, 
Then,  when  the  ashes  of  life's  falling  ember 

Are  lighted  with  flickering  fears, 
You  may  forget  them,  while  I  shall  remember 

These  moments  surviving  the  years. 


32          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


Dedication* 

If  that  indeed  were  fa6t,  which  seems 

A  pleasant  universal  fiftion, 
That's  daily  born  of  youthful  dreams, 

Nor  dies  of  daily  contradiction  — 

That  every  mortal  has  a  mate, 

And  counterparts  go  blindly  groping 

To  find  perchance  through  fogs  of  fate 
The  end  of  all  their  weary  hoping, — 

I'd  say  :   Whatever  I  have  done 

To  manhood's  earnest  work  befitting, 

Be  consecrate  to  her  alone 

Who  waits  for  me,  though  all  unwitting ; 

Who  puts  the  signs  of  pain  away, 

Lest  grief  too  soon  her  cheek  should  furrow  ; 
Who  beats  temptation  back  to-day, 

That  I  may  see  some  glad  to-morrow  ; 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          33 

Who  dare  not  pluck  a  flower  that  grows 
Beyond  the  path  God  spreads  before  her, 

Nor  ever  thinks  of  passing  those 
That  bloom  beside  it  to  adore  her ; 

Who  strives  to  add  a  cubit  yet 

By  faith  unto  her  moral  stature  — 
Dear  soul  !  —  lest  I  should  feel  regret 

At  finding  less  than  mine  her  nature ; 

Whose  hands  train  many  a  trailing  vine 
That  mine  had  rudely  left  to  perish, 

And  all  its  tendrils  deftly  twine 

In  folds  that  failing  years  will  cherish ; 

Whose  steps  will  mark  life's  tune  alway, 

Though  mine  have  stumbled,  failed,  and  blun- 
dered ; 

Whose  spirit  walks  with  mine  to-day, 
However  far  our  feet  are  sundered. 


34         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


a  iofce'-letter  Wifywt  a 

Is  the  new  summer  bursting  as  freshly  as  ever, 
Along  the  smooth  margin  of  old  Genesee, 

Where  the  trillium  wakes  with  a  lingering  shiver 
Beneath  the  low  boughs  of  the  evergreen  tree  ? 

Creeps  the  trailing  arbutus  o'er  hillock  and  hollow, 
Through  leafage  whose  greenness  and  glory  are  fled  ? 

Rises  dawn  with  a  flush  of  new  glories  to  follow  ? 
Comes  the  night  with  less  terror  and  chill  in  its 
tread  ? 

In  the  grottoes  we  know,  are  the  sculptures  of  Winter 
Made  ruin  and  rubbish,  the  sport  of  the  Spring  ? 

From  the  great  rocky  walls  do  they  crumble  and  splinter, 
Whence  newly -born  rivulets  saunter  and  sing  ? 

Has  the  last  shrunken  drift  from  the  meadows  departed, 
Like  a  stage-ghost  at  dawn,  with  the  dust  on  its  face  ? 

O'er  the  long,  grassy  slopes  have  the  cloud-shadows 

started, 
As  in  summers  of  old,  their  perpetual  chase  ? 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          35 

Do  you  wander  as  once  under  cliff  and  through  tangle, 
By  pools  where  cross-currents  in  dark  eddies  meet  ? 

Or  study  the  offers  of  crevice  and  angle 

That  hold  out  temptations  to  hazardous  feet  ? 

It  is  long,  long  ago  now  —  and  longer  in  seeming  — 
Since  I  stood  with  you  by  that  river  so  fair. 

But  its  ripple  or  roar,  as  it  runs  through  my  dreaming, 
Has  no  meaning  or  music  unless  you  are  there. 

There's  a  love  that  comes  forth  at  the  bidding  of 
beauty, 

And  virtue,  and  goodness,  'twixt  woman  and  man  ; 
There's  a  love  more  allied  to  devotion  and  duty, 

That  owes  its  existence  to  kindred  and  clan. 

There  is  also  a  love  that  no  mystery  darkens, 
No  passion  need  fire,  and  no  blindness  defend, 

No  whisper  can  hurt  while  suspiciousness  hearkens, 
No  envy  distraft,  and  no  jealousy  rend. 

It  is  born  of  the  spirit  that  finds  itself  mated  — 
Or  soaring  or  mining — by  one  of  its  kind  ; 

That  can  follow  it  far,  or  await  it  belated, 
Can  lead  it  in  freedom,  or  cheer  it  confined  ; 


36          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

That  feels  how  it  labors,  or  triumphs,  or  struggles ; 

That  sees  what  it  aims  at,  and  knows  why  it  fails  ; 
That  peers  at  a  glance  through  the  gauzes  and  juggles 

That  screen  and  succeed  where  no  merit  avails. 

No  thrill  marks  its  birth,  and  no  rapture  its  presence ; 

But  it  grows  in  each  fibre  by  circumstance  tried, 
From  boyhood  to  manhood  through  long  juvenes- 
cence, — 

And  such  'tis  I  send  you  from  Merrimack's  side. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          37 


Crail. 


In  days  agone,  where  rocky  cliffs 
Rise  far  above  the  river's  vale, 

There  was  a  path  of  doubts  and  ifs  — 
We  called  it  then  the  Indian  Trail. 

In  ragged  line,  from  top  to  base, 

O'er  shelving  crag  and  slippery  shale, 

By  brush  and  brier  and  jumping-place, 
Wound  up  and  down  the  Indian  Trail. 

No  girl,  though  nimble  as  a  fawn, 
No  small-boy  cautious  as  a  snail, 

No  dog,  no  mule,  no  man  of  brawn, 
Could  safely  tread  that  Indian  Trail. 

Beyond  the  age  of  childish  toy, 
Before  the  age  of  gun  and  sail, 

The  fearless  and  elastic  boy 

Alone  could  use  the  Indian  Trail. 

'Twas  like  a  great  commencement  day, 
Like  change  from  little  fish  to  whale, 


38          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

From  tearful  March  to  smiling  May, 

When  first  we  climbed  the  Indian  Trail. 

I've  threaded  many  a  devious  maze, 
And  Alpine  path  without  a  rail, 

Yet  never  felt  such  tipsy  craze 

As  touched  me  on  the  Indian  Trail. 

'Twas  easy  by  the  White  Man's  Path 
For  all  the  lofty  cliff  to  scale ; 

But  boys  returned  from  river  bath 
Preferred  to  take  the  Indian  Trail. 

Our  younger  brothers,  who'd  insist 
Upon  their  rights  of  taggle-tail, 

Were  shaken  off  and  never  missed 

When  once  we  reached  the  Indian  Trail. 

And  those  who  plundered  orchard  crop 
Regarded  not  the  farmer's  hail, 

But  left  him  puzzled  at  the  top, 

While  they  went  down  the  Indian  Trail. 

All  this  was  years  and  years  ago  — 

To  count  them  now  would  not  avail  — 

And  every  noble  tree  is  low 

That  shadowed  then  the  Indian  Trail. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          39 

The  beetling  cliff —  ah,  what  a  sin  !  — 

Is  full  of  vaults  for  beer  and  ale ; 
The  rocks  are  stained  like  toper's  chin, 

Where  flourished  once  our  Indian  Trail. 

They've  stripped  off  every  bush  and  flower, 
From  Vincent  to  Deep  Hollow  dale  ; 

The  charm  is  sunk,  the  memory  sour  — 
There  is  no  more  an  Indian  Trail. 

Far  driven  from  our  hunting-ground 
On  breezy  hill  and  billowy  swale, 

Some  wander  still,  but  some  have  found 
The  skyward  end  of  Indian  Trail. 

Dear  boys  !   it  takes  away  my  breath 
To  think  how  youth  and  genius  fail. 

Those  grim  pursuers,  Time  and  Death, 
Are  baffled  by  no  Indian  Trail. 

Life  yields  such  comfort  as  it  hath, 
But  labor  wears  and  custom  stales ; 

I  plod  all  day  the  White  Man's  Path, 
And  dream  at  night  of  Indian  Trails. 


40         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


Laurence* 

He  came  in  the  glory  of  summer  ;  in  the  terror  of 

summer  he  went : 
Like  a  blossom  the  breezes  have  wafted ;     like  a 

bough  that  the  tempest  has  rent. 
His  blue  eyes  unclosed  in  the  morning,  his  brown 

eyes  were  darkened  at  morn  ; 
And  the  durance  of  pain  could  not  banish  the  beauty 

wherewith  he  was  born. 
He  came  —  can  we  ever  forget  it,  while  the  years 

of  our  pilgrimage  roll  ?  — 
He  came  in  thine  anguish  of  body,  he  passed  'mid 

our  anguish  of  soul. 

He  brought  us  a  pride  and  a  pleasure,  he  left  us  a 

pathos  of  tears: 
A  dream  of  impossible  futures,  a  glimpse  of  uncalen- 

dared  years. 
His  voice  was  a  sweet  inspiration,  his  silence  a  sign 

from  afar ; 
He  made  us  the  heroes  we  were  not,  he  left  us  the 

cowards  we  are. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         41 

For  the  moan  of  the  heart  follows  after  his  clay, 

with  perpetual  dole, 
Forgetting  the  torture  of  body  is  lost  in  the  triumph 

of  soul. 


A  man  in  the  world  of  his  cradle,  a  sage  in  his  in- 
fantine lore, 

He  was  brave  in  the  might  of  endurance,  was  pa- 
tient—  and  who  can  be  more? 

He  had  learned  to  be  shy  of  the  stranger,  to  wel- 
come his  mother's  warm  kiss, 

To  trust  in  the  arms  of  his  father, —  and  who  can 
be  wiser  than  this  ? 

The  lifetime  we  thought  lay  before  him,  already 
was  rounded  and  whole, 

In  dainty  completeness  of  body  and  wondrous  per- 
fection of  soul. 

The  newness  of  love  at  his  coming,  the  freshness 
of  grief  when  he  went, 

The  pitiless  pain  of  his  absence,  the  effort  at  argued 
content, 

The  dim  eye  forever  retracing  the  few  little  foot- 
prints he  made, 
6 


42          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

The  quick  thought  forever  recalling  the  visions  that 

never  can  fade, — 
For  these  but  one  comfort,  one  answer,  in  faith's 

or  philosophy's  roll : 
Came  to  us  for  a  pure  little  body,  went  to  God  for 

a  glorified  soul. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          43 


©belpn* 

If  I  could  know 

That  here  about  the  place  where  last  you  played  - 
Within  this  room,  and  yonder  in  the  shade 

Of  branches  low  — 
Your  spirit  lingered,  I  would  never  go, 
But  evermore  a  hermit  pace  the  round 
Of  sunny  paths  across  this  garden  ground, 

And  o'er  the  fleckered  lawn 
Whereon  your  little  chariot  was  drawn, 

And  round  these  lonely  walls, 

Where  no  sound  ever  falls 
So  pretty  as  your  prattle  or  your  crow, — 

If  I  could  only  know  ! 

If  I  could  know 
That  to  some  distant  clime  or  planet  rare 

Sweet  souls  like  thine  repair, 
Where  love's  own  fountains  fail  not  as  they  flow,- 
Pd  be  a  traveller,  and  would  ever  go, 
Day  after  day,  along  the  selfsame  road, 
Leaving  behind  this  desolate  abode, 


44         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

My  head  upon  my  pillow  only  lay 

To  dream  myself  still  farther  on  the  way, 

Until  at  last  I  rest, 

Clasping  my  little  daughter  to  my  breast, 
Though  half  eternity  were  wasted  so, — 

If  I  could  only  know  ! 

If  I  could  know 

That  you  a  child  with  childlike  ways  remain, 
I'd  never  wish  to  be  a  man  again, 

But  only  try  to  grow 
As  childlike,  using  all  the  idle  toys 
That  you  and  I  have  played  with,  till  their  noise 
Brought  back  the  echoes  of  your  merry  laugh, 
When  paper  windmill  whirled  upon  its  staff, 
Or  painted  ball  went  rolling  on  the  floor, 

Or  puss  peeped  out  behind  the  door, 

Or  watch,  held  half  in  fear, 
With  its  mysterious  pulses  thrilled  your  ear : 
All  manly  occupation  Pd  forego, 

If  I  could  only  know  ! 

If  I  could  know 

That  henceforth,  in  some  pure  eternal  sphere, 
The  little  life  that  grew  so  swiftly  here 

Would  still  expand  and  grow, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          45 

How  should  I  strive  against  my  wasting  years, 
With  toil  from  sun  to  sun,  and  midnight  tears, 
To  build  my  soul  up  to  the  height  of  yours, 

And  catch  the  light  that  lures, 

The  inspiration  that  impels, 

The  strength  that  dwells, 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  earthly  cares  and  fears, 

Beyond  this  bitter  woe, — 

If  I  could  only  know  ! 

Alas  !   what  do  I  know  ? 
I  know  your  world  scarce  compassed  yonder  stone  — 

As  little  seems  my  own  ! 
I  know  you  never  knew  unhappiness — 

Would  I  could  mourn  the  less ! 
I  know  you  never  saw  death's  darker  side  — 

The  shore  where  we  abide  ! 
I  know  you  never  felt  the  nameless  dread  — 

Ah,  but  if  mine  were  fled  ! 
I  know  you  never  heard  a  lover's  vow  — 

And  Pm  your  lover  now  ! 
I  know  no  answer  to  my  wail  can  come  — 

Let  me  be  dumb ! 


46          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


a  loftier  J)oet, 

(Michael  O'Connor,  1837-1862.) 

Where  swell  the  songs  thou  shouldst  have  sung 

By  peaceful  rivers  yet  to  flow  ? 
Where  bloom  the  smiles  thy  ready  tongue 

Would  call  to  lips  that  loved  thee  so  ? 
On  what  far  shore  of  being  tossed 

Dost  thou  resume  the  genial  stave, 
And  strike  again  the  lyre  we  lost 

By  Rappahannock's  troubled  wave  ? 

If  that  new  world  hath  hill  and  stream, 

And  breezy  bank,  and  quiet  dell, 
If  forests  murmur,  waters  gleam, 

And  wayside  flowers  their  story  tell, 
Thy  hand  ere  this  has  plucked  the  reed 

That  wavered  by  the  wooded  shore, 
Its  prisoned  soul  thy  ringers  freed, 

To  float  melodious  evermore. 

So  seems  it  to  my  musing  mood, 
So  runs  it  in  my  surer  thought, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         47 

That  much  of  beauty,  more  of  good, 

For  thee  the  rounded  years  have  wrought ; 

That  life  will  live,  however  blown 
Like  vapor  on  the  summer  air ; 

That  power  perpetuates  its  own  ; 
That  silence  here  is  music  there. 


48          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


a  Wmm  of  t&e 

(Margaret  Augusta  Peterson,  1841-1864.) 

Through  the  sombre  arch  of  that  gateway  tower 
Where  my  humblest  townsman  rides  at  last, 

You  may  spy  the  bells  of  a  nodding  flower, 
On  a  double  mound  that  is  thickly  grassed. 

And  between  the  spring  and  the  summer-time, 

Or  ever  the  lilac's  bloom  is  shed, 
When  they  come  with  banners  and  wreaths  and 
rhyme, 

To  deck  the  tombs  of  the  nation's  dead, 

They  find  there  a  little  flag  in  the  grass, 

And  fling  a  handful  of  roses  down, 
And  pause  a  moment  before  they  pass 

To  the  Captain's  grave  with  the  gilded  crown. 

But  if  perchance  they  seek  to  recall 

What  name,  what  deeds,  these  honors  declare, 
They  cannot  tell,  they  are  silent  all 

As  the  noiseless  harebell  nodding  there. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         49 

She  was  tall,  with  an  almost  manly  grace, 
And  young,  with  strange  wisdom  for  one  so 
young, 

And  fair,  with  more  than  a  woman's  face; 
With  dark,  deep  eyes,  and  a  mirthful  tongue. 

The  poor  and  the  fatherless  knew  her  smile  ; 

The  friend  in  sorrow  had  seen  her  tears ; 
She  had  studied  the  ways  of  the  rough  world's  guile, 

And  read  the  romance  of  historic  years. 

What  she  might  have  been  in  these  times  of  ours, 
At  once  it  is  easy  and  hard  to  guess  ; 

For  always  a  riddle  are  half-used  powers, 
And  always  a  power  is  lovingness. 

But  her  fortunes  fell  upon  evil  days  — 

If  days  are  evil  when  evil  dies  — 
And  she  was  not  one  who  could  stand  at  gaze 

Where  the  hopes  of  humanity  fall  and  rise. 

Nor  could  she  dance  to  the  viol's  tune, 

When  the  drum  was  throbbing  throughout  the 

land, 

Or  dream  in  the  light  of  the  summer  moon, 
While  Treason  was  clenching  his  mailed  hand. 
7 


50          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

Through  the  long  gray  hospital's  corridor 
She  journeyed  many  a  mournful  league, 

And  her  light  foot  fell  on  the  oaken  floor 
As  if  it  never  could  know  fatigue. 


She  stood  by  the  good  old  surgeon's  side, 

And  the  sufferers  smiled  as  they  saw  her  stand ; 

She  wrote,  and  the  mothers  marveled  and  cried 
At  their  darling  soldiers'  feminine  hand. 

She  was  last  in  the  ward  when  the  lights  burned  low 
And  Sleep  called  a  truce  to  his  foeman  Pain ; 

At  the  midnight  cry  she  was  first  to  go, 
To  bind  up  the  bleeding  wound  again. 

For  sometimes  the  wreck  of  a  man  would  rise, 
Weird  and  gaunt  in  the  watch-lamp's  gleam, 

And  tear  away  bandage  and  splints  and  ties, 
Fighting  the  battle  all  o'er  in  his  dream. 

No  wonder  the  youngest  surgeon  felt 

A  charm  in  the  presence  of  that  brave  soul, 

Through  weary  weeks,  as  she  nightly  knelt 

With  the  letter  from  home  or  the  doctor's  dole. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          5  i 

He  heard  her  called,  and  he  heard  her  blessed, 
With  many  a  patriot's  parting  breath  ; 

And  ere  his  soul  to  itself  confessed, 

Love  leaped  to  life  in  those  vigils  of  death. 

"O,  fly  to  your  home  !  "  came  a  whisper  dread, 
"For  now  the  pestilence  walks  by  night." 

"The  greater  the  need  of  me  here,"  she  said, 
And  bared  her  arm  for  the  lancet's  bite. 


Was  there  death,  green  death,  in  the  atmosphere  r 
Was  the  bright  steel  poisoned  ?     Who  can  tell  ? 

Her  weeping  friends  gathered  beside  her  bier, 
And  the  clergyman  told  them  all  was  well. 

Well  —  and  alas  that  it  should  be  so  ! 

When  a  nation's  debt  reaches  reckoning-day  — 
Well  for  it  to  be  able,  but  woe 

To  the  generation  that's  called  to  pay  ! 

Forth  from  the  long  gray  hospital  came 

Every  boy  in  blue  who  could  walk  the  floor ; 

The  sick  and  the  wounded,  the  blind  and  lame, 
Formed  two  long  files  from  her  father's  door. 


52          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

There  was  grief  in  many  a  manly  breast, 
While  men's  tears  fell  as  the  coffin  passed; 

And  thus  she  went  to  the  world  of  rest, 
Martial  and  maidenly  unto  the  last. 

And  that  youngest  surgeon,  was  he  to  blame  ?  — 
He  held  the  lancet — Heaven  only  knows. 

No  matter;  his  heart  broke  all  the  same, 
And  he  laid  him  down,  and  never  arose. 

So  Death  received,  in  his  greedy  hand, 
Two  precious  coins  of  the  awful  price 

That  purchased  freedom  for  this  dear  land  — 
For  master  and  bondman  —  yea,  bought  it  twice. 

Such  fates  too  often  such  women  are  for  ! 

God  grant  the  Republic  a  large  increase, 
To  match  the  heroes  in  time  of  war, 

And  mother  the  children  in  time  of  peace. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          53 


Clje  Kfoate* 

{  My  friend,  we're  rivals  now  no  more  ; 

A  silent  suitor  ranks  us  both  — 

Her  lord  henceforth,  however  loath, 
Where  mortal  rivalries  are  o'er. 
If  both  her  lovers  had  been  one, 

And  that  one  such  as  she  had  willed, 
And  life  rolled  smooth  from  sun  to  sun, 

Till  all  her  hopes  had  been  fulfilled, 
She  could  not  then  have  laid  it  by 

With  more  of  graceful  ease  and  trust 
Than  when  before  an  opening  sky 

She  dropped  her  veil  of  earthly  dust. 
I  knew  myself,  I  now  confess, 

To  be  unworthy  of  her  hand  ; 
But  who  for  that  e'er  loves  the  less, 

Or  finds  his  courage  e'er  unmanned  ? 
We  all  avow,  we  all  believe, 

That  she  we  love  with  reverent  heart 
Could  somehow  many  a  fault  retrieve, 

And  something  of  herself  impart. 


54         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

Her  thoughts  were  such  as  none  could  reach 

But  with  a  spirit  like  her  own, 
And  the  low  music  of  her  speech 

Was  soft  as  Nature's  undertone. 
Where'er  she  came  she  brought  a  spell 

That  hallowed  all  the  commonplace  ; 
Whene'er  she  went  a  silence  fell, 

And  something  shadowed  every  face. 
I  loved  her  with  a  wild  delight, 

Unheedful  of  the  Yes  or  No ; 
And  in  the  balmy  summer  night 

A  score  of  times  I  told  her  so. 
I  told  her  how  ambition  kept 

An  even  step  with  love's  reply, 
How  half  the  powers  of  nature  slept 

Until  awakened  by  a  sigh. 
She  almost  smiled,  and  all  but  wept, 

And  gently  put  the  subject  by, —    , 
So  gently  that  I  knew  my  fate 

Was  then  determined  past  recall, 
And  you,  my  rival,  once  my  mate, 

Were  throned  and  crowned  the  lord  of  all. 
But  tell  me  —  now  that  this  has  past  — 

By  what  device,  what  novel  art, 
You  found  the  hidden  clue  at  last 

And  reached  the  portal  of  her  heart. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          5  5 

For  you  and  I,  in  days  of  youth, 
Went  hand-in-hand  in  search  of  truth, 
And  howsoever  either  fared 
The  gain  or  loss  was  always  shared. 
I  could  not  sleep  if  you  were  sad, 
You  could  but  smile  if  I  was  glad, 
And  both  in  equal  gauge  retained 
The  skill  or  knowledge  either  gained. 
I  marveled  you  the  happy  way 
Had  found,  and  I  so  far  astray." 


"You  marveled  ?     And  I  marveled  too  ; 
For  I  was  sure  she  favored  you. 
And  when  her  prompt  refusal  rang 

The  knell  of  hope,  I  could  not  fend 
Against  the  first,  the  only  pang 

Of  envy  toward  my  boyhood  friend. 
But  that  was  neither  deep  nor  strong. 
No  unbefitting  thought  could  long 
Remain  a  tenant  of  the  soul 
Where  love  of  her  held  high  control. 
And  silent  then  I  took  the  place 
Of  one  who,  distanced  in  the  race, 
Still  feels,  however  fortune  fall, 
*Tis  noble  to  have  striven  at  all. 


56          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

I  even  began  to  take  a  pride 

In  thinking  he  who  by  my  side 

Had  walked  since  childhood's  earliest  day 

So  fair  a  prize  had  borne  away  ; 

Though  I,  too,  wondered  what  availed 

To  win  your  cause  where  mine  had  failed." 

"Perhaps,  unknown  to  you  and  me, 

Another  suitor,  who  surpassed 
All  we  could  ever  do  or  be, 
Had  won  the  citadel  at  last." 

"  No  such  appeared.     I  rather  hold 

Our  rival  was  no  fleshly  real, 
No  living  man  of  mortal  mould, 

But  her  own  perfect,  fair  ideal. 
What  man  could  hope,  in  such  a  case  ? 

Or  who  presume  to  emulate 
The  visionary  power  and  grace 

That  such  a  fancy  could  create  ? 
For  her  perception  was  the  kind 
That,  to  no  force  of  Nature  blind, 
With  equal  vision  seems  to  see 
What  must,  what  might,  what  ought  to  be. 
And  she  could  look  through  screen  and  scroll 
Of  measured  words  and  mannered  vole, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          5  7 

To  read  the  secrets  of  the  soul. 
I  felt  this  power  when  first  we  met  — 
Felt,  feared,  but  did  not  quite  regret ; 
I  felt  it  more  when  last  we  spoke, 
Before  her  thread  of  being  broke ; 
Yet  knew  whatever  she  read  in  me 
Was  still  wrapped  up  in  secrecy." 

'  Nay,  souls  like  hers  are  never  given 
To  form  ideals  this  side  of  heaven. 
They  do  not  seek  the  name  of  wife 
And  put  a  price-mark  on  their  life, 
Saying:   'For  thus  much  excellence, 
Thus  much  of  manhood,  thus  much  sense, 
Or  wit,  or  goodness,  I'm  for  sale  ; 
And  nothing  less  can  e'er  avail.' 
They  step  into  this  world  of  ours 
With  all  their  sympathies  and  powers 
Spread  to  the  full  to  catch  the  need 
Of  fellow-men  with  generous  deed, 
Or  helpful  thought,  or  word  of  cheer, 
Or  smile  that  hope's  renewal  brings, 
Or  such  encouragement  as  springs 
From  simply  knowing  they  are  here. 
They  love  as  God  loves,  and  they  find 
Their  heart's  desire  in  all  mankind. 


58          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

It  seems  as  if  their  garment's  hem 
Made  sacred  every  path  it  swept, 
And  everything  that  walked  or  crept 

Was  happier  for  the  sight  of  them. 

Their  days  glide  on  like  living  streams 
That  find  a  pre-appointed  way ; 

Their  years  are  eras,  and  their  dreams 
Substantial  visions  made  to  stay. 

There  is  no  twilight  in  their  age  ; 
There  is  no  darkness  in  their  death ; 
They  calmly  yield  their  latest  breath, 

And  leave  their  lives  a  heritage. 

They  do  their  work  and  take  no  toll ; 

Their  gaze  is  not  on  any  goal ; 

They  never  think  of  Honor's  roll. 

And  such  was  she  —  God  rest  her  soul ! 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          59 


Three  women  have  I  known  the  earth  above  — 
Three  whom  I  thought  superlatively  good. 

One  for  her  country  died,  and  one  for  love, 
And  one  for  motherhood. 

She  who  her  country  served  was  strong  and  bright  - 
Almost  a  martyr's  fire,  a  soldier's  tread. 

Men  seeing  her  were  manlier  for  the  sight, 
While  women  ceased  from  dread. 

She  was  the  flower  of  earth  whose  broken  heart 
Shed  its  dear  life-drops  upon  barren  ground  — 

Forgave  the  blow,  smiled  and  denied  the  smart, 
Died  to  conceal  the  wound. 

And  she  who  gave  her  life  for  newer  life 
Thought  only  of  the  little  one's  career  — 

Hoped  he  was  equal  to  the  coming  strife, 
And  passed  without  a  fear. 


6o         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

Three  women  do  I  mourn  the  earth  beneath, 
Who  left  the  world  forever  in  their  debt. 

These  three  I  chiefly  grudge  to  thee,  O  Death, 
And  never  can  forget. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows,         61 


William  Hamilton  (SJibaotu 

(1850-1896.) 

Who  Nature  loves  by  Nature  is  beloved. 

She  makes  him  gentle  and  she  keeps  him  fair ; 
By  woods  and  waters  where  her  treasures  are 
Within  his  hand  she  lays  a  hand  ungloved. 
For  him  no  stream  is  stopped,  no  mountain  moved, 
No  bird-song  hushed,  nor  any  branch  made  bare  ; 
Useless  the  archer's  shaft,  the  fowler's  snare; 
Nor  for  his  feet  is  any  pathway  grooved. 

So  Gibson  lived  and  wrote,  and  drew  and  dreamed, 

Whose  sun  too  early  dropped  adown  the  west, 
Whose  every  day  with  purest  visions  teemed, 

That  gave  another's  day  a  fresher  zest; 
And  like  dear  Nature's  self  he  often  seemed 
To  draw  no  lines  'twixt  labor,  play,  and  rest. 


6  2          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


Cubing. 

(October  27,  1864.) 

He  wrought  a  deed  of  darkness  that  shines  in  light 

eternal. 
His  errand  was  destruction,  but  he  builded  for  all 

time. 

Behooves  his  grateful  countrymen  to  keep  such  memo- 
ries vernal, 

When  they  trace  the  lines  of  history  or  build  the 
poet's  rhyme. 


'Twas  the  fourth  and  final  season  of  that  struggle  for 

existence 

When  the  great  Republic  trembled  from  circumfer- 
ence to  core  ; 
When  a  million  men  were  battling,   o'er  a  thousand 

miles  of  distance, 

And   six   hundred   warships   watching   a   thousand 
leagues  of  shore ; 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         63 

When  the  schoolhouse  was  a  barrack,  and  the  flag  flew 

from  the  steeple  ; 
When  women  paced  the  hospital,  and  old  men  ran 

the  mill ; 
When  every  throb  was  quickened  in  the  pulses  of  the 

people, 

While  the  sentries  walked  in  silence  and  the  guns 
were  never  still. 

'Twas  the  summer  of  the  Wilderness,  that  dark  and 

bloody  thicket  — 

The  summer  of  Cold  Harbor,  of  Atlanta,  of  Mo- 
bile- 
When  the  shadows  on  the  hearthstone  seemed  to  hush 

the  very  cricket, 

And   Doubt,   with   sombre  presence,  sat  at   every 
morning  meal. 

At  the  little  town  of  Plymouth,  sixteen  hundred  under 

Wessells 

Blocked  the  port  and  held  the  post  against  nine  thou- 
sand under  Hoke  — 
Held  it  with  their  hasty  earthworks  and  their  little 

wooden  vessels, 

Till  the  iron  monster  Albemarle   came   down  the 
Roanoke. 


64         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

All  day  long,  in  heavy  columns,  the  determined  foe 

assaulted ; 
All  day  long  the  stout  defenders  held  the  lines  before 

the  town. 
Though  their  dead  were  piled  in  winrows,  yet  the 

rebels  never  halted, 

Till  they  reached  the  very  muzzles  of  the  guns  that 
struck  them  down. 

But  the  Albemarle,  the  monster  with  her  prow  beneath 

the  water, 

And  her  sloping  sides  of  iron,  and  two-hundred- 
pounder  balls, 
Came  steaming  down  the  river,  like  a  dragon  to  the 

slaughter, 

To  enfilade  the  land-works  and  destroy  the  wooden 
walls. 

/ 
Down  she  came  with  steady  purpose,  of  the  shot  and 

shell  unheeding — 

Bows  on,  she  struck  the  Southfield,  and  the  South- 
field  was  a  wreck ; 
Drove  adrift  the  small  Miami,  with  her  crew  all  torn 

and  bleeding, 

And  her  brave  commander  Flusser  lying  dead  upon 
the  deck. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         65 

And  the  other  craft  were  scattered,  and  her  guns  were 

turned  on  Plymouth, 
Where  Wessells*  sixteen  hundred  thus  far  unmoved 

had  stood. 
"Lo,  the  foe  in  front  we  baffle,  but  behind  comes  up 

Behemoth, 

And  our  little  fleet  has  perished,  and  we  are  but  flesh 
and  blood." 

Thus  fell  Plymouth,  and  the  Albemarle  returned  unto 

her  mooring, 
And  the  British  blockade-runner  sailed  once  more 

the  Roanoke  — 

Carried  rifles,  carried  powder,  carried  bullets  death- 
insuring, — 

Until  young  Lieutenant  Gushing  to  his  ship's  com- 
mander spoke  : 

"  Be  it  mine  to  meet  the  monster,  with  a  score  of  trusty 

sailors, 
In   the  blackness  of  the  midnight,    with   torpedo, 

launch,   and  fall  ! 

River  bed  or  wreath  of  glory,  grim  stockade  with  sul- 
len jailers, 

Wounds  or  blindness,  fail  or  triumph,  life  or  death, 
I  risk  it  all  ! 


66          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

"  Only  give  me  first  a  furlough,  that  my  sisters  and  my 

mother 
I  may  visit  once  again,  lest  I  shall  see  them  never 

more." 
In  his  Northern  home  those  dear  ones  hide  the  pang 

they  can  not  smother, 
When  he  hastens  back  to  duty  on  the  Carolina  shore. 

In  a  moonless,  cloudy  midnight  Gushing* s  launch  crept 

up  the  river  — 
On  her  bowsprit  a  torpedo,  in  her  hold  a  score  of 

men. 
Every  tongue  was  tied  to  silence,  every  nerve  was  on 

the  quiver, 

Till  the  great  hulk  loomed  above  them,  fast  asleep 
within  her  den. 

Round  about  her  for  a  rampart,  slowly  rising,  creaking, 

falling, 
Swayed  a  raft  of  heavy  logging  with  the  motion  of 

the  tide. 
Gushing* s  little  craft  backed  water,  to  the  farther  shore 

close  hauling, 

Then  with  full  steam  darted  forward,  climbed  the 
logs  and  reached  her  side. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         67 

"Who  goes  there!"  a  flash  of  lightning  leaping  out 

from  that  dark  cover, 
And  a  mammoth  shot  went  crashing  through  the 

launch  from  stem  to  stern. 
But  Gushing  pulled  his  lanyard,  and  the  Albemarle 

turned  over, 

Like  a  giant  on  his  deathbed  when  he  gives  the  final 
girn. 

Eighteen  men  were   killed   or  captured.     One   with 

Gushing  swam  the  river, 
While  the  bullets  pelted  round  them  like  the  drops 

of  coming  rain  — 
Swam  the  river,  waded  marshes,  found  a  skiff  in  leafy 

cover, 

And  when  morning  light  was  breaking  reached  the 
friendly  fleet  again. 

Thus  he  wrought  the  deed  of  darkness  that  shines  in 

light  eternal  ! 
Thus  his  errand  was  destruction,  when  he  builded 

for  all  time  ! 
And  we,   his   grateful   countrymen,   must   keep   such 

memories  vernal, 

On   History's   heroic  page   and  in    the   household 
rhyme. 


68          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


'Twas  a  gallant  craft  as  ever  sailed, 

And  a  marvelous  merry  crew  she  bore, 
When  with  canvas  set  and  colors  nailed 

I  sent  her  out  to  a  distant  shore. 
I  sent  her  out  with  a  broad  command 

To  cruise  at  will  through  the  Golden  Isles, 
And  bring  me  the  product  of  every  land 

That  the  soul  delights  or  the  sense  beguiles. 

Tough  are  the  timbers  that  compass  her  sides, 

And  the  lines  are  graceful  that  curve  to  her  keel, 
And  she  leaves  a  foamy  wake  as  she  rides 

Secure  with  her  steadiest  man  at  the  wheel. 
And  that  foamy  wake  in  my  dreams  I  see, 

Where  whitens  the  wave  for  a  thousand  miles ; 
And  the  man  at  the  wheel,  unmindful  of  me, 

Is  looking  ahead  for  the  Golden  Isles. 

If  waking  I  walk  on  the  lonely  shore, 

The  foam  of  her  furrow  has  melted  away, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         69 

And  I  know  that  her  sailors  are  merry  no  more, 
And  her  pilot  I  know  must  be  withered  and  gray. 

But  I  still  believe  that  her  ensign  burns, 

And  on  her  brown  canvas  the  sunlight  smiles, 

As  heavily  laden  she  homeward  turns, 
Or  cruises  yet  'mid  the  Golden  Isles. 

And  I  never  doubt  she  will  surely  come, 

Riding  in  on  some  happy  tide, 
Strained  and  battered,  but  bearing  home 

All  that  she  sought  o'er  the  ocean  wide. 
And  if  Father  Charon  should  pluck  my  sleeve 

And  point  to  his  skiff,  with  a  laughing  lip 
I'd  do  his  bidding,  and  still  believe 

I  am  only  going  to  meet  my  ship. 


70         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


When  foolish  words  have  been  forgot, 
And  wiser  memory  reads  between  — 
Like  some  dear  child's  handwriting  seen 
Half-blindly  through  an  awkward  blot  — 
How  clearly  runs  the  legend  then  : 

There's  something  more  in  friendship's  faith 
Than  careless  hand  or  vagrant  breath 
Can  make  or  break  with  tongue  or  pen. 

Yet  foolish  words  will  have  their  sway, 
Like  smoke  that  wraps  a  generous  fire 
And  forces  tears  and  rouses  ire, 
And  seem  decisive  for  a  day. 

I  owe  your  memory  heavy  debt, 
My  friend  of  many  sacred  years  ; 
But  would  you  double  these  arrears, 
Learn  also  sometimes  to  forget. 


Mor tring  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          71 


Stttunuu 

What  sudden  splendor  loads  the  falling  year ! 
Like  an  old  man  whose  honors  come  too  late, 
Yet  walks  with  regal  step  and  brow  sedate 
The  purple  pathway  to  his  gilded  bier. 
Sharp-tongued  is  Fate  to  utter  words  austere 
When  her  keen  glance  upon  the  dial-plate  — 
Where  neither  bribe  of  love  nor  force  of  hate 
Can  stop  the  shadow  in  its  swift  career — 
Catches  the  hour  the  mortal  must  not  pass. 

So  long  as  sorrow  and  distress  endure, 
How  calmly  she  denies  our  prayers,  alas  !  — 

Patience  should  be,  where  all  things  are  secure  — 
But  grimly  she  delights  to  turn  the  glass 

Just  when  its  sands  run  brightest  and  most  pure. 


J2          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


|>'0  JJoenu 

Over  the  water  and  under  the  sky, 
Dreamily  sailing,  the  clouds  go  by. 
Fleecy  and  white  as  a  wild  swan's  breast, 
Darkened  and  dim  as  the  mountain's  crest, 
Reddened  with  flashes  of  sunset  fire, 
Rolled  into  portents  and  effigies  dire, 
Smiling  or  frowning  for  calm  or  for  storm,— 
Whatever  the  color,  whatever  the  form, — 
Daily  and  nightly  the  clouds  go  by, 
Over  the  water  and  under  the  sky. 

Over  the  water  and  under  the  sky, 
Steadily  sailing,  the  ships  go  by. 
Bearing  away  on  the  Arftic  breeze,       / 
Floating  along  to  the  tropic  seas, 
Beating  about  at  the  stormy  cape, 
Cleaving  the  fog  like  a  ghostly  shape, 
Carrying  cargoes  for  peaceful  trade, 
Bristling  with  guns  for  destruction  made, — 
Sailing  forever,  the  ships  go  by, 
Over  the  water  and  under  the  sky. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          73 

Over  the  earth  and  under  the  sky, 

The  great  procession  of  life  goes  by. 

Some  in  laughter  and  some  in  tears, 

Leaping  in  childhood  or  crippled  in  years, 

Toiling  along  under  wearisome  load, 

Galloping  off  on  a  flowery  road, 

Hopeful  and  hopeless,  the  small  and  the  great, 

The  captive  in  chains  and  the  monarch  in  state, — 

All  in  the  endless  procession  go  by, 

Over  the  landscape  and  under  the  sky. 

Over  the  landscape  and  under  the  sky, 
Dreamily  roving,  our  souls  go  by. 
Seeking  the  wonders  of  every  clime, 
Reading  the  tales  of  a  far-away  time, 
Marching  where  thousands  keep  step  to  the  drum, 
Brooding  in  solitude  sightless  and  dumb, 
Taking  the  world  at  the  worst  or  the  best, 
Willing  to  labor  and  careless  of  rest, 
If  eternity  finds  us,  when  life's  gone  by, 
Under  the  daisies  and  over  the  sky. 


74         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


ail  partners* 

(These  verses,  which  refer  to  the  execution  of  President  Gar- 
field's  assassin,  were  published  originally  in  the  New  York  Sun, 
June  30,  1882.  That  which  they  foretold  came  to  pass  in  Sep- 
tember, 1901,  and  was  the  occasion  of  the  lines  that  follow.) 

Yes,  hang  him,  of  course  !     He  deserves  to  rise 
Where  his  heels  may  dangle  o'er  Raman's  head. 
At  least  we  shall  have  one  scoundrel  the  less, 
Conveniently  crazed  in  his  fiendishness, 
To  walk  our  streets  in  an  innocent  guise, 
With  his  hidden  pistol  and  stealthy  tread. 

But  when  we  have  hanged  him,  what  comes  then  ? 
Had  he  any  confederates  ?     Let  us  see  ! 
For  the  law  is  imperfe£l  and  lame  at  best, 
And  censure's  weight  should  be  made  to  rest 
On  as  many  as  possible,  women  or  men, 
Who  have  joined  in  breaking  its  just  decree. 

When  a  youth  the  Ephesian  temple  fired, 

That  his  name,  as  he  said,  might  live  thro'  time, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows,          75 

'Twas  decreed  that  it  never  be  written  or 

spoken  — 

A  law  by  the  chroniclers  quickly  broken, 
Who've  given  him  all  that  he  desired, 
And  offered  his  chosen  reward  for  crime. 

Thus  you,  the  historians,  you  are  to  blame. 
You  offered  this  fellow  a  heavy  bribe  : 
If  he'd  only  compass  a  shameful  deed, 
A  sickening  sorrow  to  all  who  read, 
You'd  give  him  something  as  good  as  fame 
To  any  one  of  his  vulgar  tribe. 

Then  you,  the  reporters,  hungry  for  news, 
And  nibbling  at  nothings  for  printed  prate, 

You've  dosed  us  to  death  with  his  nauseous  name, 
With  how  he  looks,  and  whence  he  came, 
And  what  he  drinks,  and  how  he  chews, 
Till  the  simple  reader  thinks  him  great. 

And  we  who  have  read  are  guilty  beside  : 
To  be  curious  hold  we  a  sacred  right, 

As  we  smother  a  fainting  man  in  the  street, 
Or  run  to  evil  with  hurrying  feet, 
Making  a  crowd  where  the  felons  may  hide, 
And  balking  justice  to  gratify  sight. 


J  6         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

The  quack  who  has  striven  the  law  to  impede, 
The  garrulous  parson  to  decency  blind, 

Every  fool  who  has  asked  for  his  autograph, 
Or  greeted  his  jests  with  a  brutal  laugh, 
Is  an  accessory  after  the  deed, 

And  before  the  next  we  shall  have  of  its  kind. 

When  a  few  more  years  bring  another  such  blow, 
And  the  head  of  the  nation  lies  in  state, 

While  our  streets  with  the  emblems  of  mourning 

are  filled, 

And  door-posts  are  darkened  and  songs  are  stilled, 
While  we  follow  the  funeral,  sad  and  slow, 

We  shall  think  of  these  things,  God  help  us !  too 
late. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          77 


(1901.) 

In  the  freshness  of  our  sorrow, 

In  the  darkness  of  our  grief, 
With  a  loss  that  no  to-morrow 

Can  repair  or  give  relief, — 
With  a  cloud  upon  our  history 

Such  as  fades  not  in  the  years, 
And  the  burden  of  a  mystery 

That  forever  forces  tears, — 
How  shall  any  heart  be  grateful 

As  becomes  this  festal  day, 
With  the  sinful  and  the  hateful 

Driving  happy  thoughts  away  ? 
With  the  manhood  held  so  proudly, 

That  grew  up  through  fateful  times, 
And  the  faith  that  spoke  so  loudly 

In  orations  and  in  rhymes, 
There  was  still  a  viper  crawling 

Through  the  garden  we  had  made, 
And  the  stroke  of  fate  was  falling 

When  our  guards  were  least  afraid. 


78          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

That  the  nation's  will  is  thwarted 

By  the  vilest  of  the  vile, 
And  the  worst  with  best  consorted, 

Do  we  render  thanks  the  while? 

Not  by  these,  which  are  but  outward 

Afts  and  feelings  of  the  hour, 
Must  our  thoughts  be  driven  doubtward 

And  our  faith  resign  its  power. 
We  give  thanks  that  evil  forces, 

Malice-laden,  are  so  small, 
That  the  law's  majestic  courses 

Falter  not,  whate'er  befall. 
We  give  thanks  that  he  who  perished 

On  that  sunny  autumn  day 
Left  a  memory  to  be  cherished 

Till  the  earth  shall  pass  away ; 
That  his  dying,  as  his  living, 

Was  a  lesson  for  our  youth, 
With  no  flaw,  and  no  misgiving 

Of  the  grace  and  force  of  truth  ; 
Of  the  might  of  earnest  manhood, 

Tense  in  war  and  calm  in  peace, 
To  unite  our  wondrous  country 

And  its  honor  to  increase. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          79 

Then  from  high  or  lowly  stations, 

From  the  East  unto  the  West, 
When  we  think  of  those  our  martyrs 

Who  have  passed  unto  their  rest, 
Let  us  thank  the  God  of  Nations 

That  we  are  so  richly  blest. 


8o          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


ianU  of 

A  Lullaby. 

Put  away  the  bauble  and  the  bib  ! 
Smooth  out  the  pillow  in  the  crib  ! 
Softly  on  the  down 
Lay  the  baby's  crown, 
Warm  around  its  feet 
Tuck  the  little  sheet, — 
Snug  as  a  pea  in  a  pod  ! 

With  a  yawn  and  a  gape, 
And  a  dreamy  little  nap, 

We  will  go,  we  will  go, 
To  the  Landy-andy-pandy 
Of  Noddy-oddy-poddy, 
To  the  Landy-andy-pand 
Of  Noddy-pod. 

There  in  the  Shadow- Maker's  tent, 
After  the  twilight's  soft  descent, 
We'll  lie  down  to  dreams 
Of  milk  in  flowing  streams  ; 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          8  i 

And  the  Shadow- Maker's  baby 
Will  lie  down  with  us,  may  be, 
On  the  soft  mossy  pillow  of  the  sod. 
In  a  drowse  and  a  doze, 
All  asleep  from  head  to  toes, 

We  will  lie,  we  will  lie, 
In  the  Landy-andy-pandy 

Of  Noddy-oddy-poddy, 
In  the  Landy-andy-pand 
Of  Noddy-pod. 

Then  when  the  morning  breaks, 
Then  when  the  robin  wakes, 

We'll  leave  the  drowsy  dreams, 
And  the  twinkling  starry  gleams, 
We'll  leave  the  little  tent, 
And  the  wonders  in  it  pent, 
To  return  to  our  own  native  sod. 
With  a  hop  and  a  skip, 
And  a  jump  and  a  flip, 

We  will  come,  we  will  come, 
From  the  Landy-andy-pandy 

Of  Noddy-oddy-poddy, 
From  the  Landy-andy-pand 
Of  Noddy-pod. 


82          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


of  t&e  Kauu 


Like  a  blotch  upon  a  beauty 

Comes  a  cloud  across  the  sky  ; 
Like  an  unrelenting  duty 

Fall  the  raindrops  from  on  high. 
Like  death  upon  a  holiday, 

Like  sleigh-ride  upon  wheels, 
Like  jilting  on  a  jolly  day, 

Like  medicine  at  meals, 
Sets  in  a  storm  preposterous, 

Of  every  plan  the  bane  : 
Now  sullen  and  now  boisterous, 
Malicious,  mean,  or  roisterous, 
But  always  moist  and  moisture-ous, 

Forever  on  the  gain, 

And  never  on  the  wane, 
Bringing  sudden  consternation, 
And  a  long-drawn  botheration, 
To  the  men  upon  the  house-top,  and  the  cattle  in  the 

plain. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          83 

How  it  pours,  pours,  pours, 

In  a  never-ending  sheet ! 
How  it  drives  beneath  the  doors  ! 

How  it  soaks  the  passer's  feet  ! 
How  it  rattles  on  the  shutter  ! 

How  it  rumples  up  the  lawn  ! 
How  'twill  sigh,  and  moan,  and  mutter, 

From  darkness  until  dawn  !  — 
Making  human  life  a  burden, 

Making  joy  a  flimsy  wile, 
Making  bondage  seem  a  guerdon 
In  the  rainless  fields  of  Egypt,  by  the  clever  river  Nile. 
Yet  how  pleasantly  the  rain, 
With  its  delicate  refrain, 

May  sing  away  the  sultriness  of  summer  day  or  night  ! 
Set  the  drooping  grass  a-springing, 
And  the  robin's  throat  a-ringing, 
Fill  the  meadow-lands  with  verdure,  and  the  hills  with 

glistening  light  ! 
Or  in  April,  fickle-hearted, 
Ere  the  chill  has  quite  departed, 
That  the  frosts,  and  the  snows,  and  the  howling  winds 

have  brought, 

When  all  the  signs  of  gladness 
Take  a  sombre  tinge  of  sadness, 


84         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

For  days  and  deeds  that  come  no  more,  and  dreams 
that  fell  to  nought ! 

Then,  in  half  unwelcome  leisure 

'Tis  a  sort  of  solemn  pleasure 

To  sit  beside  the  ingle, 

Or  to  lie  beneath  the  shingle, 
And  listen  to  the  patter  of  the  rain,  rain,  rain, 

To  the  drip,  drip,  drip, 

And  the  patter,  patter,  patter, 
On  the  roof,  and  the  shutter,  and  the  pane. 

But  whether  night  or  day-time, 
In  harvest-time  or  play-time, 
And  whether  pour  or  patter, 
The  early  rain  or  latter 
Reigns  over  human  purpose,  and  plays  with  human 

fears  — 

Sets  mighty  armies  shouting, 
Sends  little  Cupid  pouting, 
Turns  trusting  into  doubting. 

And  triumph  into  tears. 

O  !  sadly  I  remember 
One  treacherous  September, 

When  the  autumn  equinoftial  came  a  week  or  more 
too  soon. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         85 

I  had  started  with  a  cousin 

For  the  church,  among  a  dozen 

Maids  and  matrons  who  were  airing 

The  fall  styles,  and  gayly  wearing 
The  very  newest,  sweetest  thing  in  bonnets  'neath  the 
Moon. 

And  midway  of  the  journey, 

Like  a  thousand  knights  in  tourney, 
The  leveled  lances  of  the  rain  drove  furious  at  our 
breast ; 

And  the  fall  styles  fell  and  wilted, 

On  the  dames  so  proudly  kilted, 
And  by  sudden  transformation  worse  than  worst  be- 
came the  best. 

Though  I  now  am  sere  and  yellow, 

I  was  then  a  valiant  fellow, 

And  esteemed  it  more  a  joy  to  serve  the  ladies  than  to 
live. 

Imagine,  then,  my  feelings, 

'Mid  the  shrinkings  and  the  squealings, 
When  my  water-proof  umbrella  proved  a  sieve,  sieve, 

sieve  ! 
When  my  shiny  new  umbrella  proved  a  sieve ! 

What  a  sorry  lot  of  mortals 

Sat  within  the  sacred  portals, 


86          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

In  their  mermaid  millinery  looking  sad,  sad,  sad  ! 
Nothing  dry  except  the  sermon, 
Which  discoursed  on  dews  of  Hermon 
And  the  streams  that,  saith  the  Scripture,  do  make 

glad,  glad,  glad  ! 

So  the  preacher  praised  the  waters 
To  those  mothers,  wives,  and  daughters, 
Every  dripping,  draggled  one  of  whom  was  mad,  mad, 

mad  ! 

And  my  bright  and  handsome  cousin  — 
Sweetest  girl  among  the  dozen, 
Or  among  a  dozen  dozen  you  might  meet  along  the 

way, 

Then  a  hopeful,  sprightly  maiden, 
Full  of  fancies  laughter-laden, 
Dates  the  ruin  of  her  chances  from  that  rainy  Sabbath 

day. 

She  had  spent  her  last  round  dollar 
For  the  bonnet,  gloves,  and  collar 
That  should  have  proved  effective  on  the  smart  young 

pulpiteer  ; 

But  he  rode  home  in  the  carriage 
Of  her  rival,  and  their  marriage 

Was  solemnized  (my  cousin's  word)  in  less  than  half 
a  year. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          87 

But  gladly  I  remember 

One  crimson-hued  September, 

When  we  strayed  along  the  hedges  and  within  the  gor- 
geous wold  ; 

A  merry  autumn  party 

Of  men  and  maidens  hearty, 
Rejoicing  in  the  foliage  of  scarlet  and  of  gold. 

We  saw  in  lessening  distance 

The  fair  things  of  existence  ; 

And  ere  we  thought  of  turning, 

Or  heeded  sign  of  warning, 

We  heard  upon  the  fallen  leaves  the  footsteps  of  the 
rain. 

Away  went  rules  conventional ! 

And  I,  with  haste  intentional, 

Just  clapped  my  good  old  broad-brim  on  the  head  of 
Annie  Trayne. 

That  extemporized  umbrella 

Threw  cold  water  on  a  fellow 

Who  was  courting,  in  a  lazy  sort  of  way,  Miss  Annie 
Trayne ; 

While  it  made  me  quite  a  gallant, 

And  a  fine  young  man  of  talent, 
In  the  eyes  and  estimation  of  the  beauteous  Annie 
Travne. 


88          Morning  Lig.hts  and  Evening  Shadows. 

In  the  dreamy  summer  haze 

Of  my  far-off  boyish  days, 
I  had  chased  the  luring  butterfly  across  the  grassy  plain, 

But  I  never  threw  my  hat 

O'er  a  prize  so  fair  as  that 

When  it  sheltered,  caught,  and  gave  me  the  lovely 
Annie  Trayne. 

And  I've  blessed  that  gentle  rain 

Again  and  yet  again, 
For  the  flowers  it  set  blooming  in  my  life : 

For  the  crimson  and  the  gold 

That  adorn  the  little  fold 
Where  I  find  an  autumn  shelter  with  my  wife. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          89 


Sin 


From  his  ambush  in  thy  shadowy  eyes,  Love  sped  a 

shaft  at  mine  ; 
'T  was  feathered  with  a  shining  tress,  and  barbed  with 

a  smile  divine. 

My  heart  is  all  a-quiver  ;  but  hear  me  while  I  sing  — 
O,  let  me  be  thy  beau,  and  I  will   never  snap  the 

string  ! 

Then  clad  in  noiseless  moccasins  the  feet  of  the  years 

shall  fall  ; 
For  I  will  cherish  thee,  my  love,  till  Time  shall  scalp 

us  all. 

Not  with  the  glittering  wampum  have   I   come  thy 

smiles  to  woo  ; 
But  to  offer  a  cabin  passage  down  life's  river  in  my 

canoe  ; 

And  to  beguile  the  voyage,  if  thou  wilt  come  aboard, 
Till  sunset  fire  the  waters  the  fire-water  shall  be  poured, 


90         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

While  clad  in  softest  moccasins  the  feet  of  the  years 

shall  fall  ; 
And  I  will  cherish  thee,  my  love,  till  Time  shall  scalp 

us  all. 


My  pipe  of  peace  thy  frosty  scorn  has  shattered,  stem 

and  bowl ; 
But  a  thousand  thongs  from  thy  dear  hide  are  knotted 

round  my  soul. 
Safe  from  the  swoop  of  tomahawk  my  dove  shall  ever 

be; 
And  if  Famine  stare  us  in  the  face,  I'll  jerk  my  heart 

for  thee. 

So,  clad  in  noiseless  moccasins  the  feet  of  the  years 

shall  fall  ; 
And  I  will  cherish  thee,  my  love,  till  Time  shall  scalp 

us  all. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         91 


in  t&e 


O  for  a  lodge  in  a  garden  of  cucumbers  ! 

O  for  an  iceberg  or  two  at  control  ! 
O  for  a  vale  that  at  mid-day  the  dew  cumbers  ! 

O  for  a  pleasure-trip  up  to  the  pole  ! 

O  for  a  little  one-story  thermometer, 

With  nothing  but  zeroes  all  ranged  in  a  row  ! 

O  for  a  big  double-barreled  hygrometer, 

To  measure  the  moisture  that  rolls  from  my  brow  ! 

O  that  this  cold  world  were  twenty  times  colder  ! 

(That's  irony  red  hot,  it  seemeth  to  me.) 
O  for  a  turn  of  its  dreaded  cold  shoulder  ! 

O  what  a  comfort  an  ague  would  be  ! 

O  for  a  grotto  frost-lined  and  rill-riven, 
Scooped  in  the  rock  under  cataracl  vast  ! 

O  for  a  winter  of  discontent  even  ! 
O  for  wet  blankets  judiciously  cast  ! 


92          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

O  for  a  soda-fount  spouting  up  boldly 

From  every  hot  lamp-post  against  the  hot  sky  ! 

O  for  proud  maiden  to  look  on  me  coldly, 
Freezing  my  soul  with  a  glance  of  her  eye  ! 

Then  O  for  a  draught  from  a  cup  of  cold  pizen  ! 

And  O  for  a  through  ticket,  via  Coldegrave, 
To  the  baths  of  the  Styx,  where  a  thick  shadow  lies  on 

And  deepens  the  chill  of  its  dark-running  wave  ! 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         93 


(Sate  of 


The  summer-house  was  old  and  worn, 

A  Moorish  roof  of  painted  pine, 
On  seven  slender  shafts  upborne, 

Half  hidden  by  a  clambering  vine, 
And  half  in  sunlight,  while  the  leaves 
Of  two  great  maples  flecked  the  floor 
With  dancing  shapes  all  shadowed  o'er, 
And  rustled  round  the  broken  eaves. 
It  stood  upon  a  point  of  land 

Far  poised  above  a  silver  flood, 
And  the  deep  gulf  on  either  hand 
By  swallow-flights  alone  was  spanned, 

Or  fleecy  clouds  in  flying  scud. 
What  lovers  may  have  whispered  there 
In  silences  of  evening  air, 
What  robbers  at  the  midnight  hour 
Conspired  to  clutch  crime's  bloody  dower, 
What  tuneless  poet  watched  the  stars, 
What  hermit  soul  through  mortal  bars 
Withdrawn  from  every  mortal  care,  — 


94         Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

I  reck  not,  for  I  see  it  still 

As  in  one  dreamy  afternoon 

When  Summer's  strength  was  freshly  hewn, 
And  Autumn's  haze  was  on  the  hill. 
Then  we  were  children  —  happy  time  ! 

For  this  old  world  seemed  shining  new, 
And  life  was  but  a  rattling  rhyme, 

And  all  its  pretty  tales  were  true. 
We  played  the  old  familiar  games 

Until  they  palled  upon  the  sense, 
And  personated  squires  and  dames, 

And  knaves  and  knights,  in  grave  pretence, 
Till  Helen,  flinging  from  her  lap 

The  autumn  leaves,  sprang  up  and  cried, 
"I  know  a  game  we  have  not  tried  — 
We'll  play  at  finding  on  the  map  !  " 

She  brought  the  atlas  from  the  house, 

And  spread  it  on  the  arbor  floor ; 

We  clustered  round  and  conned  it  o'er, 
With  wary  eyes  and  thoughtful  brows. 
The  turn  went  round  until  it  fell 

To  Arthur,  him  of  fewest  years 
Among  us,  and  he  pondered  well, 

Then  bade  us  find  the  Gate  of  Tears. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          95 

What  mighty  travels  now  began  — 

What  voyages  in  unknown  seas  ! 

We  cruised  among  the  Cyclades, 

And  visited  the  Cingalese, 
And  lingered  at  the  Isle  of  Man. 
We  crossed  the  Himalayan  slopes, 

And  climbed  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon  ; 
We  trod  Peruvian  bridge  of  ropes, 

And  lowland  dyke,  and  Danish  dune ; 
We  sailed  the  great  Australian  Bight, 

We  basked  awhile  on  tropic  shores, 

We  pulled  the  daring  whaler's  oars, 
And  lost  ourselves  in  Ar&ic  night. 

On  Orinoco's  tangled  banks 
The  chattering  monkeys  mocked  our  quest  ; 

And  in  the  red  man's  straggling  ranks 
We  thrid  the  rivers  of  the  West ; 
We  followed  up  the  Niger's  course, 

And  all  the  Dnieper's  muddy  miles, 
And  where  Ontario's  waters  force 

St.  Lawrence  through  his  Thousand  Isles. 
With  vague  conjecture,  jests,  and  jeers, 

We  spelled  out  many  a  foreign  name, 

But  still  were  baffled  by  the  game, 
And  could  not  find  the  Gate  of  Tears. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


"You  give  it  up,"  said  Arthur — "Good  ! 

But  see  how  plain  it  now  appears  — 
A  voyage  through  the  Red  Sea's  flood 

Will  bring  you  to  the  Gate  of  Tears." 
The  Red  Sea's  flood,  we  knew  not  then, 

We've  known  too  well  in  after  years  ; 
For  time  and  truth  have  made  us  men  — 
Swift  time,  stern  truths  told  o'er  again  — 

And  all  have  found  the  Gate  of  Tears. 


O  Helen  of  the  golden  hair, 

Of  all  thy  little  mates  that  day, 
Not  one  but  would  have  borne  thy  care, 

Or  plucked  his  own  right  eye  away, 
To  save  those  dark,  deep,  lustrous  spheres 
Of  thine  from  sorrow's  bitter  tears. 
It  might  not  be  ;  for  thine  the  lot 

Of  all  good  women  since  the  fall : 
One  half  of  life  beside  the  cot, 

The  other  half  beside  the  pall  — 
Presiding  over  birth  and  death, 

Our  earliest  and  our  latest  breath  — 
Our  entrance  on  a  life  of  fears, 

Our  exit  at  the  Gate  of  Tears. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.         97 

O  Father  Land,  of  lands  the  best, 
O  Mother  Freedom,  dearer  still, 
What  mystery  moves  the  mighty  will, 

That  many  days  must  still  be  dressed 

In  sable  weeds,  and  pain  and  loss, 

The  mourner's  tear,  the  martyr's  cross, 

Appear  wherever  we  can  see 

One  step  advances  liberty  ? 

So  was  it  when  our  Washington 

Thro'  seven  long  years  kept  heart  of  hope, 
From  Cambridge  elm  to  Trenton  slope, 

From  Valley  Forge  to  Yorktown's  sun. 

So  was  it,  too,  when  Lincoln  led 
His  people  through  the  bloody  years 

That  Fate  exacted  as  her  price 

To  shrive  us  of  a  hideous  vice, — 

Then  bowed  his  own  most  reverend  head, 
And  left  us  at  the  Gate  of  Tears. 

So  when  our  third  great  President, 

His  welcoming  hand  extended  free, 
Was  struck  with  murderous  intent 
By  treacherous  tool  of  anarchy. 
'3 


98          Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

The  whole  world  breathing  prayers  of  hope, 
The  nation  quivering  with  its  fears, 

For  him  the  gates  of  triumph  ope, 
For  us,  alas !   the  Gate  of  Tears. 

So  may  it  be  when  you  and  I, 

And  all  of  us,  uncertain  stand, 
Compelled  to  cross,  though  fain  to  fly, 
The  shadows  of  the  border-land  : 
With  tranquil  mind  that  knows  at  length 
All  its  own  weakness,  and  its  strength, 
Following  in  quiet  self-control 
The  light  that  shines  from  out  the  soul, 

The  wisdom  never  born  of  years, 
That  leads  where  clearer  suns  may  rise, 
And  show  the  gloomy  Gate  of  Tears 
An  outer  gate  of  Paradise. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.          99 


©n  tlje  iSeacj)  at 


Give  me  a  handful  of  the  glittering  sand 

That's  rolled  about  by  every  breaking  wave  ; 

Sit  here  upon  the  margin  of  the  land, 

And  meet  my  questioning  with  answer  brave. 

Whence  and  how  came  it  to  this  pleasant  shore  ? 

"  From  the  far  north,  ten  thousand  years  ago, 
Crept  down  the  mighty  avalanche  that  bore 

A  half-  world  load  of  rock  and  ice  and  snow. 


somewhere  in  its  cold,  capacious  breast 
Were  wrapped  the  deep  foundations  of  this  isle, 
Torn  from  the  Arftic  mountains'  frozen  crest, 
And  dragged  a  year  a  mile  —  a  year  a  mile." 

What  legend  from  those  days  could  tell  you  this  ? 

t(  Where  Hudson  perished  and  where  Franklin  failed, 
From  many  a  broken  ledge  and  cliff  we  miss 

The  very  rocks  your  sands  have  here  impaled. 


ioo       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

"The  sands  themselves  are  but  the  shining  grist 
Crushed  from  the  gravel  in  that  mighty  mill, 

As,  moving  with  remorseless  roll  and  twist, 
The  giant  glacier  worked  its  patient  will." 

But  how  and  whence  that  Arctic  quarry  rose  ? 

"'Tis  plainly  written  on  its  splintered  side: 
Millions  of  years  before,  'mid  earthquake  throes, 

'Twas  heaved  aloft  by  some  volcanic  tide. 

"And  there  it  rested,  looking  o'er  the  plain, 
Silent  and  solemn  as  the  starry  flocks, 

Until  the  circling  ages  in  their  train 

Brought  round  the  cycle  of  the  equinox." 

Tell  me  what  placed  it  in  the  depths  of  earth. 

"  Go  back  in  thought  a  myriad  ages  more, 
And  see  this  rolling  globe  of  mighty  girth 

Hurled  from  the  Sun  with  all  its  mineral  store. 

"  Mingled  and  kneaded  in  the  glowing  mass 
Was  all  we  have  of  rock  or  tree  or  air, 

Slowly  to  be  evolved  as  changes  pass, 

Fires  melt,  frosts  crack,  winds  blow,  and  waters 
wear." 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.        101 

And  whence  your  Sun  ?  and  whence  his  motive  force  ? 

€€  Sprung  from  a  nebula  that  floated  free. 
Rotation  was  the  law  that  ruled  his  course, 

And  all  else  followed  by  necessity." 

And  whence  the  nebula  ?     How  does  it  come 
The  substance  of  this  sand  exists  at  all  ? 

I  wait  for  answer  —  and  your  lips  are  dumb. 
The  march  of  Science  leads  us  to  a  wall. 

Change  upon  change,  we  tell  the  changes  o'er  ; 

But  genesis  of  matter  still  escapes, 
And  more  of  searching  only  brings  us  more 

Mysterious  substance  in  familiar  shapes. 

While  the  great  riddle  thus  remains  unsolved, 
And  Science  can  not  pass  beyond  its  tether, 

However  worlds  and  systems  are  evolved, 
The  sage  and  simpleton  must  stand  together. 


IO2       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


at 


If  I  were  Shakespeare,  I  should  die  to-day. 
If  I  were  Lincoln,  I  should  set  my  hand 
Unto  the  hardest  task  that  e'er  was  planned 

Of  complex  forces  and  unknown  assay. 

If  I  were  Washington,  the  land  would  leap 
With  gladness  for  a  freedom  newly  won  ; 
If  Caesar,  I  should  cross  the  Rubicon  ; 

And  if  Magellan,  sail  the  greater  deep. 

Burns,  Byron,  Collins,  Motherwell,  and  Praed  - 
By  fifteen  years  I  have  overpassed  the  time 
When  poets  die,  without  one  worthy  rhyme 

Or  verse  whose  color  will  not  surely  fade. 

Seven  years  I  am  beyond  the  martial  age  ; 
But  sword  or  banner  hangs  not  on  my  wall, 
Where  shadows  pass,  like  some  dim  funeral 

Of  valorous  comrade  or  preceptor  sage. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.        103 

What  Rubicons  I  fancied  I  should  cross ! 

But  every  brook  is  either  bridged  or  dry. 

There  seems  no  more  to  be  a  call  for  high 
Heroic  action  —  save  in  patient  loss. 


I've  closed  no  gulf  that  parted  friend  from  friend, 
Nor  widened  any  fertile  stream  of  thought : 
My  whole  half  century  figures  up  to  nought  — 

Unless  achievement  be  not  life's  sole  end  — 

Unless  there  must  be  for  whom  good's  designed, 
As  well  as  those  through  whom  it  comes  to  pass — 
Reflective  souls,  wherein,  as  in  a  glass, 

Creative  thinkers  meet  their  pictured  mind. 

I  am  not  Shakespeare  —  but  his  plays  are  mine. 
I  am  not  Lincoln  —  but  I  saw  that  face, 
The  saddest  and  the  wisest  of  our  race ; 

Nor  Washington  —  but  Freedom's  heir  in  line. 

So  something  still  of  triumph  there  must  be 
In  lowly  places  ;   and  before  the  mast 
A  man  may  hope  that  he  shall  come  at  last, 

With  his  great  Captain,  to  the  tranquil  sea. 


104       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 


( Passages  from  occasional  poems.  ) 

THE  STAGE  RIDE. 

The  sandy  highway,  fringed  with  green, 
By  sparkling  water-courses  led 
Along  some  ancient  river's  bed, 

With  wealth  of  intervale  between, 

Winds  upward  toward  the  purple  range, 
As  journeys  one  in  morning  dream, 
And  bridges  many  a  murmuring  stream, 

And  revels  in  continual  change. 

Just  over  there  the  mountains  lie, 

The  quiet  brood  of  quiet  sky  ; 

Just  over  there  their  shadow  falls. 

We  wind  through  many  a  narrow  dell, 
And  vale  whose  bounds  more  gently  swell, 

Right  onward  toward  the  rocky  walls  ; 

And  still  through  this  delusive  air 
Their  rugged  sides  above  us  bend 
And  seem  to  mark  our  journey' s  end, 

Just  over  there,  just  over  there. 

But  lo  !  the  clouds,  in  tatters  dressed, 

Come  clambering  o'er  the  mountain  crest, 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.        105 

And  tumbling  here,  or  settling  there, 
Now  buoyed  a  while  in  denser  air, 
Now  clinging  to  some  rocky  ledge, 

In  sunlight  dark,  in  shadow  pale, 
Creep  slowly  down  as  if  to  wage 

An  Indian  warfare  on  the  vale. 
Our  leaders  snuff  the  coming  shower, 
And  put  forth  more  determined  power : 
Our  wheels  more  eager  crunch  the  sand, 
We  grasp  the  rail  with  firmer  hand, 
Hold  hats  against  the  stiffening  breeze, 
More  nimbly  dodge  the  drooping  trees, 
Fall  helpless  in  the  ambushed  jolts, 
Dream  timidly  of  breaking  bolts, 
Suspend  a  while  the  anxious  breath 
Where  one  mis-step  might  hurl  to  death, 
Dash  at  the  low  hill's  rocky  face, 
Spin  like  a  peg-top  round  its  base, 
Go  thundering  through  the  heaving  bridge, 
And  roll  along  the  causeway's  ridge, — 
Till  horses,  driver,  men,  and  freight 

Seem  but  an  animated  whole, 
With  one  quick  impulse  all  elate, 

The  thrill  of  one  impassioned  soul. 


106       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

NEW  AND  OLD. 

New  lamps  for  old  !  —  and  shall  we  have  more  light 

On  any  mystery  of  our  mortal  days, 
Since  Eighty-five  has  set  in  endless  night, 

And  Eighty-six  has  risen  on  our  gaze 
With  brighter  rays  ? 

New  hopes  for  old  desires,  forgotten  now, 
That  last  year  often  broke  our  nightly  rest, 

Tried  the  whole  heart,  and  taxed  the  furrowed  brow, 
And  sent  the  fancy  nor '-by-south-by-west, 
On  foolish  quest ! 

New  blossoms  for  dead  fruit,  and  sweets  in  hive  ! 

This  sturdy  branch  of  Time's  perennial  tree, 
Which  counts  its  harvests  up  to  eighty-five, 

Must  bear  of  golden  pippins  two  or  three 
For  you  and  me. 

New  loves  for  hatreds  dead  !     Fresh  faith  and  strong, 
For  worn-out  grudges  and  resentments  old, 

For  all  the  brood  of  prejudice  and  wrong, 

The  petty  spites  and  malice  manifold 

That  now  are  cold. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.        107 

New  blood  for  watery  Age  !    New  brawn  for  Youth  ! 

Fresh  heaps  of  fuel  for  Ambition's  fires  ! 
New  explorations  in  the  realms  of  Truth, 

New  songs  of  genius  from  unheard-of  lyres 
And  silent  choirs  ! 

New  friends,  perhaps  —  but  old  ones  none  the  less  ! 

New  passions,  possibly  ;  for  who  can  tell 
What  shape  the  passing  cloud  will  take,  or  guess 

What  current  bears  him,  or  what  tempest  swell 
Bodes  ill  or  well  ? 


TOUTH  AND   FERSE. 

Verse  is  the  gift  of  youth.     The  song-birds  cease 
Their  warblings  when  the  springtime  blossoms 
fall; 

The  summers  strengthen  and  the  fruits  increase 
To  a  more  sober  music  ;   and  the  tall 
Ripe  grain  that  tosses  like  a  plumed  pall 

Nods  to  funereal  measures,  till  at  last 
The  sickle  undermines  the  golden  wall, 

The  dream  of  glory  fades  into  the  past, 
And  through  the  stubble  cries  the  shrill  autumnal  blast. 


io8       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

Youth  may  be  pardoned  for  its  lack  of  thought, 

Its  careless  rhymes  and  repetitious  song ; 
It  can  but  know  the  little  that  is  taught, 

It  can  but  guess  at  life  —  and  guesses  wrong. 
But  in  the  bubbling  spirit  it  is  strong, 
That  stirs  and  strives  within  the  blood  and  brain, 

•  Propels  the  rolling  world  its  course  along, 
And  drags  the  cautious  elders  in  its  train, 
And  scales  the  mountain  height,  and  dares  the  furious 


GREAT  AND  SMALL. 

Our  lives  are  little,  but  our  times  are  great. 

We  come,  we  see,  we  linger,  and  we  pass  ; 
Weave  but  a  single  thread  in  web  of  state, 

Or  give  the  field  a  single  spear  of  grass. 

We  are  too  often  like  a  boyish  class, 
Where  each  one  stumbles  through  his  dozen  lines, 

And  looks  bewildered  at  the  stubborn  mass 
Of  foreign  words  and  intricate  designs, — 
But  lo  !  when  all  is  done,  through  all  an  Iliad  shines. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.        109 


CIVIL  WAR. 

Hamlets  unheard-of  fifty  miles  away 

Became  historic  when  their  streets  ran  blood, 

And  gentle  streams  that  through  the  meadows  play, 
With  rippling  song  that  only  sang  of  good, 
Told  henceforth  to  the  overhanging  wood 

A  tale  of  sorrow  and  unending  tears, 

And  bore  a  stain  that  neither  ebb  nor  flood 

Can  wash  away  through  all  the  coming  years, 
Till  Greed  forget  his  crimes,  and  Sympathy  her  fears. 

Yet  wisdom  was  not  wanting  to  the  tale, 

And  History  wrote  new  marvels  in  her  age. 
She  saw,  one  April  morn,  the  glories  pale 

Of  all  the  naval  heroes  on  her  page. 

In  single  ship  or  battle-line  they  wage 
Successful  warfare  ;  but  behold  at  bay 

Fortress  and  fire-raft,  hulk  with  chain  and  kedge, 
Gunboat  and  ram,  all  blazing  in  the  fray, 
And  all  by  our  great  sailor  conquered  in  a  day. 

In  ancient  times  the  spirits  of  the  slain 
Were  said  to  fight  again  in  upper  air, 


V   OF  THE  X 

UNIVERSITY  J 


i  I  o       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

While  still  their  comrades  struggled  on  the  plain 
Or  rose  in  ghostly  ranks  to  join  them  there. 
But  in  our  western  Alleghanies,  where 

The  Chattanooga  through  its  valley  goes, 
An  army  clambered  up  the  mountain  stair, 

Plunged  into  clouds,  and  then  beyond  them  rose, 
And  crossed  the  yellow  Moon,  pursuing  still  their  foes. 

There  was  one  Marathon  in  Greece  of  old  ; 

There  is  one  Waterloo  in  Belgium  now  ; 
And  yonder,  nestled  in  a  gentle  fold 

Of  the  Blue  Ridge,  along  a  hillock's  brow, 

Lies  a  great  field  whereon  the  reverent  plow 
Follows  the  selfsame  lines  that  once  it  drew  ; 

For  there  three  thousand  patriots  sealed  their  vow 
To  be  to  freedom  and  their  country  true, 
And  made  of  Gettysburg  a  three-days'  Waterloo. 

There,  as  it  should  be  when  a  people  rise 

In  the  true  majesty  of  final  law, 
Was  little  of  the  taclics  of  the  wise 

Or  brilliant  general,  neither  did  it  draw 

From  accident  or  from  opponent's  flaw 
The  great  result.     No  whirl  of  Fortune's  wheel 

Determined  who  the  bitter  leek  should  gnaw. 


Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows.        1 1 1 

The  brains  were  with  the  hands  that  held  the  steel, 
And  stubborn  will  prevailed  against  a  fiery  zeal. 

From  such,  of  such,  for  such,  a  great  man  rose, 
Amid  the  rudeness  of  the  wondrous  West, 

And  carried  all  the  burden  of  our  woes 

With  gentle  words  and  sympathetic  breast, 
And  ever  edged  his  wisdom  with  a  jest, 

While  deepened  still  the  lines  that  care  had  worn, 
His  finger  on  the  people's  pulses  pressed, 

Until  the  burden  and  the  heat  were  borne, 
Then  vanished  like  a  dream, —  and  we  forever  mourn. 


A  FAREWELL. 

Once  to  these  college  halls  I  bade  farewell, 

And  twice  returned  to  read  a  simple  measure, 
To  tickle  fancy  with  the  rhythmic  spell 

That  gives  an  equal  glow  to  dross  and  treasure ; 

And  now  a  third  attempt,  by  your  good  pleasure. 
Be  this  the  last.     And  let  some  younger  voice 

Hereafter  wile  away  your  evening's  leisure 
With  graceful  art  on  themes  of  lighter  choice, 
That  sadden  less  the  ear  and  more  the  heart  rejoice. 


1 1 2       Morning  Lights  and  Evening  Shadows. 

For  I  have  dwelt  so  many  years  afar 

From  this  the  scene  of  youth's  delicious  days, 

And  turned  so  often  to  the  evening  star 

That  dropped  on  you  the  plummet  of  its  rays, 
And  felt  the  rush,  the  swirl,  the  swift  amaze, 

As  day  chased  day  in  ever  hastening  flight, — 
I  could  but  trace  again  the  earlier  ways, 

And  speak  once  more  the  feelings,  true  but  trite, 
Of  one  who  knows  full  well  'tis  time  to  say  Good 
night ! 

A  drowsy  infant  when  your  story's  done  — 
A  schoolboy  tinkering  at  his  broken  skate  — 

A  youth  who  sees  the  final  dance  begun  — 
A  lover  leaning  o'er  a  garden  gate  — 
A  maiden  listening  for  the  word  of  fate  — 

A  soldier  thinking  of  to-morrow's  fight  — 
A  statesman  conscious  of  expiring  date  — 

A  watcher  doubtful  of  the  morning  light, — 
I  understand  them  all :  they  hate  to  say  Good  night ! 


—-  «  '^inss."1"' 


•     ,1 


